


The 'Write' Side of the Bed

by downwiththeship0390



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 11:28:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8748865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downwiththeship0390/pseuds/downwiththeship0390
Summary: Hermione Granger is facing writer's block. As she procrastinates, her publishing agent reveals a shocking secret in order to get her writing again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing too explicit here, mostly fluff. Enjoy!

 

The sun peaked through a crack in the curtains illuminating a sliver of a bare leg, a white coverlet, and the hideous smushed face of an orange cat. Far from disturbing the owner of the leg, the slow warmth of the sun elicited a sigh of contentment and a cat-like stretch — not unlike the inverted pose the orange tabby was currently in the middle of. Unfortunately for the cat, the leg swung towards the floor and knocked into his ear, earning the leg an annoyed swat of sharp claws. 

“Even your ill-temper can’t discourage me today, Crooks. The sun is out, the birds are singing, and today I will finish my book.” 

The tabby blinked in an unamused fashion before leaping off the bed and slipping out of the room. It had no patience for early-morning cheerfulness. 

The cat’s antics went unnoticed and with a quick flick of a wand, the curtains fully parted and warm sunlight filled the room, shining on a young woman wearing a worn-out _Bulgarian National_ jersey and humming a Celtic tune. 

“Yes. Today is the day. I will be productive! I will sit down and finish my novel. Well, first I’ll make some breakfast, have a cup or two of tea, read the Prophet, finish the Daily Puzzle…. but THEN. _Then_ I’ll finish my novel.” She nodded to herself with one hard bob of her head, making the knot of curls on top of her head wave precariously. 

Procrastination had never been a character trait attributed to this woman in the past. She was Hermione Granger after all. The ‘Brightest Witch of the Age' a member of the 'Golden Trio' and a self-proclaimed and proud bookworm to boot. However, for the first time in her 26 years of life, Hermione Granger had hit a stumbling block. Or rather, a solid brick wall 14-feet thick and 38-feet high surrounded with protective enchantments and wards. At least, that’s what this recent bout of writer’s block felt like to her. 

Determined to put the WoPPDtWB (Wall of Painful Procrastination Due to Writer’s Block) out of her head, Hermione skipped into the kitchen to begin preparing her breakfast. By this time, her humming had burst into not-quite-out-of-tune ‘la la la’-ing and ‘doo-da-dilly-day’s' and the occasional spin, all while keeping a wide grin on her face. 

“Someone woke up on the write side of the bed.” An amused voice cut through her song and stopped her halfway to the pantry, causing her to let out a sharp gasp and spin around with her wand held out in front of her.

“Do you see what I did there? ‘Write’ with a ‘w’… because you are a writer?” A chuckle quickly turned into a loud snorting laugh that would have been annoying if she wasn’t secretly pleased by the stupid pun. 

“I know I said you were welcome over any time, but I do think it’s common courtesy to give fair warning before friendly visits.” She glanced at the man sitting at her kitchen table, gripping a mug of steaming liquid. “And it’s just basic business sense to send a notice before a meeting. I don’t have the final chapter completed just yet, but I feel good about today. I think today I will finally knock it out of the park!” 

“I don’t know what “it” is and I don’t know why you’re knocking it anywhere…. but I am pleased to ignore your Muggle phrase if it means I’ll be holding your entire, completed, manuscript by tomorrow evening. Shall I leave you to your work then?”

She added a bounce to her step and reached up on tip-toes to snag her second favorite mug from it’s cabinet home. Hermione ignored the dig at her Muggle heritage and glanced back at her visitor, “I can’t be bothered to feel annoyance today, but you do realize you are using my favorite mug, don’t you?”

The man smirked and slowly lifted the tacky souvenir mug with PARIS stamped across it to his lips before he replied.

“You know this is my favorite as well. Paris holds great memories for the two of us.”

He sent a heated look her way, so she turned back to the pantry to hide the slight tint that suddenly bloomed over her cheeks. 

“Yes, well. Um. Paris was years ago. I don’t like the mug for THAT reason. Of course. I like it because it reminds me of the visit I had with my parents.”

She carefully measured out a portion of strawberry and mint tea leaves into her cup.

“Besides, I thought we agreed to leave that _business_ trip in the past?” She tossed that last question over her shoulder and faced firmly in the other direction.

Gryffindor be damned. She was a little scared to hear his reply and a LOT scared to see his expression as he said it. 

Hermione waited a few beats, but the man just sipped his tea and didn’t respond to the worried brunette. She turned back around and glanced at him. A small smile played around the corners of his mouth and his eyes held a heat that could give her the shivers if she looked much longer. She didn’t. 

“Well, I can’t very well write on an empty stomach. Do you care to stay for pancakes? I’m craving them and need to use up the remaining blueberries in the fridge today.”

“And then you’ll finish the last chapter?” He sounded amused again, but she could hear a slight exasperation in his voice as well. 

“Well, I need to read the Daily Prophet, _obviously_. And I can’t start the day without completing the puzzle on page 13. Also, my shoulders feel a little tight from hunching over my desk for the past several months, maybe I should do a bit of yoga, too.” That last bit was a joke to annoy him further, but as she said it the tightness in her neck and shoulders was suddenly very apparent. Maybe she _did_ need to take better care of her body.

“Hermione. Do you know what I think?” The man stood up slowly and walked towards her. “I don’t think you’ve hit the WoPPDtWB because you don’t know _what_ to write. I think you’ve hit the WoPPDtWB because you aren’t _inspired_ to write it.” 

He was suddenly very close now. She could smell his warm cologne. She breathed a little deeper. Not because of the cologne, but because she needed more oxygen this early in the morning. _Obviously_.

“We both know what the final chapter entails. After fighting and running around their feelings for each other for the past ten years, a pair of unlikely friends finally decide to be brave and declare their love. This _should_ culminate in a passionate scene of a… sexual nature. Tasteful of course. This isn’t a short in PlayWizard.” He teased a curl that had pulled free of her top knot before moving his hands to her shoulders and gently turning her around. 

“Yes.” Her reply was nearly a groan of pleasure incited by the firm kneading of his fingers into the knots in her neck and shoulders. 

His soft voice continued, “Hermione, I think you need inspiration. I don’t think the memories from Paris are fresh enough to fuel the writing needed for this type of scene you’re planning.”

Her head rolled down to rest forward on her chest. Her body seemed relaxed but her mind was racing. Was he propositioning her? Was this all just good business? Did he want a repeat for the sake of the book? Or did he genuinely desire her and this was him somehow declaring his intentions. He worked at a particularly sore spot causing her to moan a little louder this time. 

She should be embarrassed, but his magic fingers were making her feel all kinds of ways.  She couldn’t find it in herself to pull away or even form much of a coherent sentence. 

The man brushed his lips along the side of her neck and up to her ear. “Don’t think I don’t know very well who your characters represent. Don’t think that the fantasy you created for them hasn’t affected me in some way. The only reason I originally requested to be your publishing agent was so that I could spend time with you. You know this.” He bit gently on her earlobe and her knees buckled, forcing him to swing his arms around her and pull her body in closer. 

“What do you say, Hermione? Should we give it a go? We can have a day of exploring each other again.” His big hands were warm and the circles his fingers were drawing on her belly were hypnotizing her. 

“Um.” Maybe this could work. They hadn’t been enemies since Hogwarts, and Paris HAD happened. She still couldn’t think clearly enough to reply intelligently.

“I love you, you know. I’m sure you’ve realized that by now. But I thought you should hear it.”

THAT declaration sent a jolt to her brain and the previous mush began racing at full speed ahead. She pulled herself forward and turned around. 

“What? Here I am wondering if this is some way to help me finish the book faster and you just spring this on me? What am I to think?” She was breathing heavily. Her tone of voice said “angry” but the look in her eyes told him quite the opposite. He took a chance and reached for her again. 

With a cheeky grin he pulled her to him, “Of course I’ll be pleased if you complete the book. Your deadline has passed and my bonus along with it. But my paycheck _does_ depend on you finishing. The book, that is.” 

She rolled her eyes as his insinuation. But he continued, “But Hermione. I don’t share my feelings lightly. You’ve known me for 15 years now, have I ever seemed the type to blather on about feelings?”

“No. I don’t suppose that’s your _modus operandi._ When did you begin to … feel things? I thought you said Paris was a lark inspired by the City of Lights and the - and I quote “noxious fumes of Muggles mating” in the air. That led me to believe it was a mistake and you regretted it. What changed?”

“Hermione. Let me remind you. I’m Draco Malfoy. I don’t know when to shut my mouth and sometimes that inability is combined with a lack of a word vomit filter. I was nervous and thought that you regretted it. In order to prevent my feelings from being hurt, I pretended it didn’t mean as much as it did.”

The corner of her mouth turned up .“Sometimes?” She asked, referring to his ‘word vomit filter’. 

He acted indignant. “I’ll have you know I am usually quite eloquent and charming! Many Pureblood fathers still parade their daughters in front of me trying to lure me away from my ‘distasteful job’ and ‘dishonorable interaction with Muggles and —“ he grinned down at her —“ _plebeians_.” 

Hermione snorted at the label. “I’ll have you know, although I may not have a vast Gringott’s vault 50 feet deep of Galleons, I do have a fair share from my writing. Not to mention the gift from the ministry for services to the Wizarding World. I’d hardly call myself a _plebeian_.”

He laughed, “it’s better than the banned M-word, my dear. Don’t you agree? Besides, since when did you let the foolish words and actions of the Sacred 28 bother you?”

She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. With narrowed eyes Draco’s eyes looked at her shirt. 

“You don’t even support the Bulgarian National Team. I can never figure out why you still wear that ratty jersey that Krum left here centuries ago.” 

Hermione leaned back against the counter and pulled at the hem of the long shirt. “I don’t know. I like how soft the material is from being worn for so long. It doesn’t even register in my brain anymore that this was a ‘shag shirt’”. 

“Well, it’s not appropriate if your boyfriend has his own Quidditch jersey to bestow upon you.” 

Her fingers froze along the frayed hem and her brown eyes flew up to meet his gray ones. 

“Boyfriend? I’ve barely processed that you love me!” 

He chuckled. “Did that a little backwards, didn’t I?” he ruffled his hair in a Harry Potter-esque fashion and became quite serious. “You haven’t really said anything in return. Do you feel — I mean — That is to say — How…? Bugger all. I told you I’m no good with feelings and now I can’t speak as well.”

He turned back around and snatched his coffee mug off the table, more for something to hold than out of thirst. He took a small sip and then continued, “Hermione. Do you care at all? Or is this all one-sided on my part? I can — I might be able to forget this happened and continue on with our platonic business relationship. Maybe. If I can’t, of course I’ll give you to the second best publishing agent in the house. I won’t let my feelings screw you out of your deserved success.” 

After that speech he sank into his chair, propped an elbow on the kitchen table, and took another careful sip. 

Hermione blinked a few times, placed her mug on the counter and walked over to Draco. She took his free hand and perched herself on his knees. “Draco. I’ve loved you since Paris.” Then she placed a palm against his cheek and brought his face down to hers. “Haven’t you wondered why the last ‘shag shirt’ I have is from before Paris? I haven’t been with anyone since you. And despite the urgings of my friends to “settle-down”… I haven’t wanted to. Not unless I can settle-down with you.”

She kissed him then. Lightly at first. Almost with a sweet, innocent hesitance. But that quickly disappeared the moment her words were processed and he realized she wasn’t rejecting him but instead encouraging him and even reciprocating his feelings.

Draco let go of the mug and transferred his hand to palm her bum, pulling her up close to him. His other hand yanked her hair out of it’s messy knot and fisted a handful of curls tightly. He broke their lips apart and took a deep breath before working his way down her jaw and neck, bending over her collarbone and placing small, biting kisses along the delicate skin. 

“I love you, Hermione Granger.” He murmured the words against her skin and she responded by leaning back and pulling him up to meet her eyes.

“I love you, too… Draco Malfoy.” 

He returned to his administrations of her neck, but when his lips were met with soft fabric he pulled back with a grin. “I think it’s time to replace this ratty old thing.” His fingers found one of the many weaknesses in the fabric and ripped it off of her. He rolled it into a ball and flung it over his shoulder. 

Before she could respond he grinned, “I happen to have an old Slytherin Quidditch jersey. I think you’ll look marvelous in green, my dear.” Then he kissed her soundly again. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey There! So the idea for this one-shot sort of came to me as I thought about how fantastic it would be if Hermione was a writer. Not just an academic writer (although, let’s be honest, she’d be bomb at that) but a novelist. And because Dramione is my OTP, obviously I had to incorporate Draco. I hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> *This work is posted on ff.net as well, under the same author name.


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